


would you get down on your knees for me?

by ViolaWay



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Tudor Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolaWay/pseuds/ViolaWay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tudor AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	would you get down on your knees for me?

**Author's Note:**

> so i went through this whole thing and edited it because fourteen year old me needs to just not, and i'm not entirely sure i'm happy with it but here you go anyway...

“LOTTIE! WAKE UP!”

Louis Tomlinson was used to waking up at five am—it was part of his job. Being a singer in the Tudor court was no joke; even if it had been, it would only have been funny to the King: Henry VIII. Louis was constantly hyper-aware that he could be executed on little more than a whim—every word that escaped his mouth had to be considered carefully. In truth, he’d never even been in the King’s presence; he sang for Henry’s mistress, Anne Boleyn. And it was a dangerous job. Insult her, and it was a sure route to the Tower of London, where they’d keep you until they decided whether to hang or behead you.

But Lottie wasn’t used to all that yet. Today was her first day as a lady of the court. She’d had her first blood, so now she needed a suitor (preferably one five or twenty years her senior), despite being only fourteen herself. Louis wasn’t sure whether he quite agreed with his baby sister becoming someone’s wife, but that was the way things worked. He knew better than to upset the status quo. Lottie was to begin work, too: sewing and tidying for the ‘uncrowned Queen of England’, as Anne was known. To Louis, she was just a complete and utter bitch. Boleyn was demanding, flirtatious, ambitious and mean. Louis was many of those things himself, but when she wasn’t batting her eyes at him she was treating him like shit, and he wasn’t exactly looking forward to all of his sisters having to go through that.

Everyone in his family was destined to work for Anne. Before that, they’d served Catherine (the Queen everyone said was kind, loyal and intelligent). Louis had never got to meet the woman before she was isolated in some damp castle somewhere, and he couldn’t help wishing that Henry had just stuck with her instead of initiating this whole divorce business, because he could’ve done with working for someone who didn’t grope his arse every time he turned his back.

“LOTTIE!” he yelled again.

“Calm down,” said his fiancée. Shit. Now he’d woken Eleanor.

It wasn’t that he hated the woman he was going to marry. He was just fond of avoiding her at all costs.

They’d been betrothed since he was nine years old, and in a sense they had grown up together. He hadn’t had any choice in the matter, and he still didn’t. Even if he could choose, though, he would have said yes. He couldn’t let his mother down: Eleanor was from a wealthy, noble family—she was out of his league, really. She’d been living with them for a few years, now; as a woman she couldn’t inherit her father’s estate when he died, so she was stuck with them until the wedding. After the wedding, of course, she was still stuck with Louis, but Louis considered himself to be a charming and witty person who no one was simply ‘stuck with’. Eleanor probably liked him.

The problem, of course, was that neither of them loved each other.

Louis had loved a girl, once. Her name was Hannah, she was a kitchen girl, and he’d cheated on her anyway, with a guy called Nick who he didn’t even _like_. She never found out, and Louis didn’t tell her why he broke it off, but Hannah accepted it anyway and they went back to being friends as though nothing had happened. They didn’t talk about the reputation Louis had, mostly among servants, the reputation that involved an assumption that he’d get down on his knees for any man who so much as asked. It was simply too awkward a conversation to have in the 1500s.

***

Harry Styles was not funny. He’d been reliably informed of this on several occasion by people who ought to know—that even if he _thought_ his pineapple joke was funny, it wasn’t. It just really wasn’t. This, unfortunately, did not exactly gel with his occupation: a court jester. On the bright side, he could play the lute and he could sing, but he couldn’t even get Niall to laugh at his jokes, and Niall laughed at everyone’s jokes. Still, being a jester was the family business, so Harry had learnt to paste a permanent smile on his face: dimples showing and eyes shining—he was a good faker. He’d learnt how to juggle everything from balls to swords; he knew how to balance things on his head, and he was just clumsy enough that not every fall was an accident, but he simply wasn’t sure it was his destiny to make people laugh.

It was okay, though; he got to live with fellow jester and best friend, Niall, who was naturally talented in the art of making people laugh, and was more frequently called on by the King. Niall had the kind of cheeky humour that endeared him to most, and he had enough intelligence not to offend those in power. Harry would have been more than happy to simply fade into the background.

“HARRY! WAKE UP, WE’RE INVITED TO A FEAST!”

Harry groaned and rolled out of bed, straight onto the floor. He glanced to where the sun was filtering through the small window, and deduced that it had to be about five in the morning. Oh, how he loved feast days—having to wake up at the crack of dawn, stressed musicians running up and down like headless chickens, dancers acting so superior. He couldn’t wait.

Before, he’d liked feasts. Before, when Queen Catherine had sat in her rightful place next to her husband, he’d been encouraged by her small, kind smiles whenever he messed up. She’d been able to protect him from Henry’s displeasure, too. This was to be Harry’s first performance without her, and he was dreading it. Anne Boleyn was to be in Catherine’s place instead, analysing his every move. Harry briefly wondered what would happen if he just stayed at home.

Hanging from the door was his Jester’s costume. It was more than slightly ridiculous, as if whoever had designed it had thought that the gaudy bright yellow and red stripes would force viewers to laugh. The bold colours clashed horribly with Harry’s pale, spotty skin, and the hat was too big for him, slipping over his eyes. He sighed at his reflection in the window and began to make his way downstairs.

***

“This is the first time Anne’s appeared in public with the King,” Liam was saying quietly. Louis already knew this: it was first royal feast the two boys had ever been invited to. Mostly, Anne stayed shut up in her quarters, now that she was assured of an imminent rise to power. The citizens of Britain hated her too much, as did the members of the court. Maybe Henry thought that the distrust and antagonism had passed, and that people would now accept his new Queen with loving arms. Louis wondered if Henry was an idiot.

He’d been singing for Anne Boleyn throughout her entire patchy rise to power, and he hated her for it. He’d seen her scheming, selfish ways first-hand; he’d heard the way she’d spoken about Catherine like it wasn’t another human being whose life she was ruining. In that time, however, Louis had never so much as laid eyes on the King himself. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to sing in front of someone so intimidatingly powerful, but he had no choice.

“Li,” he said, pulling on the shapeless red tunic with a wince. “Are you nervous?”

Liam levelled him with a look. “Louis, we’ve been doing this for a while now. It’s just like any other night.”

“It’s not, though.”

Liam didn’t reply as Louis finished getting dressed. They headed down to the Great Hall in silence, staring down at the rushes that coated the stone floor. As they stood outside the heavy oak doors, though, Liam turned to Louis.

“It’s going to be absolute chaos, they’ve got everyone performing. All the jesters, singers and dancers in the entire court, probably.”

As soon as they opened the door, they saw that it was. Servants, performers and cooks were flitting around like flies, expressions of pure terror adorning their faces. Louis rolled his eyes at their antics, and his eyes drifted to the corner of the room, where a figure stood, propped up by the wall, sucking on a long black pipe and blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth, which was curved into a small smirk. His outfit told Louis he was a dancer, and his demeanour practically radiated the arrogance that only the really good ones could afford.

Within seconds Louis was on his way to that side of the room, Liam following close behind. As they neared the man—who was now observing them lazily—Louis made no secret of the fact that he was checking the dancer out. Everything about him was beautiful: slim, lithe body, dark skin, and black hair forming an artfully dishevelled quiff above his perfectly symmetrical face. This guy was obviously no stranger to people looking at him the way Louis was now. Still, today was a job. Louis could be good. Friendly, not flirty. He could do it.

“Hello,” he said brightly, determinedly not batting his eyelashes. “I’m Louis—not actually French—and this is Liam. I haven’t seen you around before?”

“I’m Zayn,” the man drawled pleasantly. His voice was like melted chocolate or honey or something else that Louis just really, really wanted to lick. He started leaning closer.

“Getting away with not helping out, then? Or practising?” Liam cleared his throat pointedly as he spoke.

“Mm.”

“Why?” Liam demanded. Louis could tell that he was itching to do his duty by helping move tables and organising rushed rehearsals. The way Louis saw it, they had all day.

Zayn let out a thoughtful puff of smoke. “I’m here to dance,” he said eventually. “It’s not my job to sort everything else out.”

“It has to be someone’s job!” Liam insisted.

“Liam, go earn some brownie points yourself,” Louis interrupted. “I’ll entertain Zayn over here for you.”

“You’re engaged!” Liam hissed, not for the first time. Zayn raised an eyebrow.

“Honestly, Li, I admire your subtlety,” Louis said. “You can leave now.”

Liam backed away somewhat apologetically, shrugging one of his broad shoulders. To be honest, Louis wasn’t even particularly bothered by things like that anymore. He preferred being rejected as soon as possible—it saved him a fair amount of time.

“When I first met Liam, his hair was longer and he wasn’t wearing a shirt,” Louis explained, “so I flirted with him a little bit. I don’t think he’s ever gotten over it.”

“So you’re one of those, then?”

“Yeah,” Louis admitted. “There’s more of us than you’d expect, really.”

“And I presume you’ve slept with most of them.”

“I pride myself on it,” Louis replied instantly. He moved closer. Zayn still had his back pressed against the wall, pipe still in his mouth, but his eyes followed Louis’ movement lazily, a smirk dancing on his lips. Louis let his hand brush Zayn’s hip, returning the smile. “As my friend said, I’m engaged,” he murmured softly.

“So am I,” Zayn replied.

“Are you like me, Zayn?”

“No. But, I’ve been known to act like you on occasion.” Zayn blew out a final gust of smoke before running a hand along Louis’ spine, pulling him closer. He pressed his lips to Louis’ ear and whispered, “Come with me.”

***

Harry was watching the couple in the corner from the opposite side of the room, eyebrows furrowed.

“Which one d’you like?” Niall asked cheekily from behind him. “I think dark-hair’s pretty fit.” Harry spared a look for the arrogant dancer, but turned his attention back quickly to the feather-haired boy who was trailing his fingers along the dancer’s hip. Harry felt something twist in his gut at the sight, at the line of the smaller boy’s back and the curve of his bum—at the petite, dainty posture he had assumed, head cocked to one side. “You like the other one,” Niall observed. “Well, on the bright side, _he_ came on to dark-hair. Then again, on the not-so-good side, he came on to _dark-hair_.”

“Thanks, Niall,” Harry said. “Really helpful.”

“You might want to stop with the serial killer look,” Niall suggested. “Anyway, they’re leaving. Better luck next time, man.”

Harry just stared at the couple, his body flushing with how much he wanted to take dark-hair’s place, to let…

“Harry!” Niall whined, whacking him in the crotch. “I am not getting you off again! Keep it in your pants, will you?”

Harry grunted by way of response and pushed off from the wall, moving quickly across the rapidly filling hall and making his way into a deserted corridor, which was far enough away from the hall that he doubted anyone would hear him, or come looking for him. He pushed the wooden door shut and slumped against it, trying to slow down his breathing. Niall was right; he could live without wanking over a stranger.

Unfortunately, that resolution went out of the window when Harry…looking out the window. It was small—barely a crack in the stone wall, really, and he hadn’t noticed it before—but it was enough. Enough that he could see what was going on in the small courtyard beyond. And in the corner of that courtyard…

“Fuck it,” Harry muttered to himself.

There was just something about seeing the smaller boy on his knees that made Harry forget that he was spying on a private moment. He practically forgot his own name. Groaning quietly at the vision, he reached down to tentatively palm himself through the bright red leggings. He ignored the guilt that was rising in him as steadily as the arousal; he simply couldn’t drag his eyes away.

He continued to stare through the window as the beautiful boy shifted his weight to his heels, crouching and pulling down the dancer’s trousers. Harry whimpered softly when the smaller boy wrapped his lips around the dancer’s cock, his tongue flicking out so that its pinkness was visible to Harry. Harry’s hand sped up against the fabric of his leggings, although he couldn’t let himself actually touch his aching cock. That would be too much.

Then the dancer was fucking the beautiful boy’s face with a vengeance, and the beautiful boy knelt there and sucked for all he was worth, tears forming in his eyes and falling down his cheeks. Harry could see everything, and his imagination filled in the void that the lack of sound created. In his head, the one on his knees was moaning around the length of the dancer’s dick, small, desperate sounds. The way he was just _taking_ it…Harry moaned out loud and quickly bit down on his bottom lip, knowing full well that the pressure would soon draw blood. His hips were shifting forward urgently against the friction of his hand. He opened his eyes—barely realising he had squeezed them shut against the onslaught of pleasure—in time to see the beautiful boy pull back in time for the dancer to come on his face. At this, Harry shuddered through his own orgasm; the visual of the boy on his knees, face dripping with come, was enough to push Harry over the edge, coming in his pants like the teenager he was.

Meanwhile, the boy was scooping the white liquid onto his fingers and sucking them into his mouth, cheeks hollowing as he savoured the taste. Harry closed his eyes and tried not to think too hard about what he’d just done.

“Fuck,” he whispered.

***

Liam looked faintly scandalised when Louis sauntered up to him half an hour later. He knew he had that just-fucked look that Liam possibly knew too well by this point, and he couldn’t resist basking in it, just a little bit.

“Um,” Liam muttered to his companion, who Louis hadn’t initially noticed, “Niall, this is Louis.”

“Hello,” Louis said brightly, shaking Niall’s hand. “You’re a jester, then?” He gestured to the garish clothing.

“Yeah, I am. And you’re the one who just fucked the dancer, aren’t you?”

“Um,” Louis said.

“Because he was quite fit, actually, and if you’re done with him…”

“Niall!” a new voice hissed. Louis turned around and…wow. He wondered whether there should be a limit on how much pure, unadulterated beauty he was allowed to be in the presence of in one day, because if so, this was the limit. And then some. The new arrival was tall—a lot taller than Louis—with lanky limbs and creamy, biteable skin. Louis had never wanted to pull and stroke and tug someone’s hair more than this boy’s curls. And then there were his lips, bitten and red and plump and just made for…no, Louis wasn’t going there. There suddenly didn’t seem to be enough air in the room. In the world, even.

“Who’s this, then?” Louis asked, more flirtatiously than his usual caution allowed, but fuck it is this wasn’t the most beautiful person he had ever seen, and if he wasn’t kissing those pretty red lips soon he was going to die, or something equally dramatic.

“Harry. Um, Harry. Hi. And you are?”

Louis wanted to sink into Harry’s voice and roll around in it for days. Then he wanted to make it do all sorts of things, like moan and whine and squeak and various other filthy things.

Instead, he managed to reply, “Nice to meet you, Harry. I’m Louis.” Louis did not offer his hand to shake. Touch would possibly break him. So he just stared at Harry longingly, like a normal person. Obviously.

Two people simultaneously cleared their throats and Harry and Louis were forced to tear their gazes away from one another. It was only then that Louis realised that Harry had been staring at him, too.

***

The initial rehearsals went well due to the impeccable organisation of Liam and a few other individuals.

“It’s a mix,” Liam was explaining to Louis as they watched Zayn and the other dancers perform their routine. “Some of us are from Anne’s collection, and some are from Henry’s. A few are still floating around since Catherine’s been banished, so I guess tonight they’re sort of deciding what to do with them.”

“Who’re the King’s dancers, then?” Louis asked, gesturing towards those who were performing.

“Well there’s Zayn, obviously. He’s sort of like their leader. The others said he was a middle-eastern prince, and I wouldn’t believe then, except…” Except Zayn totally looked like he could be descended from nobility, right. Louis got it. “The girl is, um, she’s Danielle, the one with the…hair. She’s descended from lords and ladies, but they fell from favour a few years ago.”

“You fancy her.”

“And then there’s Jesy Nelson,” Liam said hastily. “She’s from a line of dancers, so no surprise about her, and the last one is Tom Parker. He seems a bit arrogant, really.”

“Aren’t they all.”

“Zayn’s really nice, actually. He was just flirting, earlier. Apparently the bad boy routine works every time,” Liam teased. Louis didn’t even know Liam was _capable_ of teasing, at least not about Louis’ sex life.

“I feel like I’ve been lied to,” he replied in mock horror, clutching his heart.

“The singers are you and I, obviously, and one of the King’s, Perrie.”

“Who’s playing the instruments?”

“Josh and Matt.”

“Oh, good. I like them. And tell Matt he should start singing, too. I’m tired of having to compete with how goddamn _loud_ she is,” Louis said. “Why’s the King only got one singer?”

“Rebecca, Aiden and Katie are waiting in his private quarters, they came down earlier just to see how we were getting on. There’s a bunch more jesters and different groups of dancers, but I suppose the only one you’re interested in is Harry.”

***

The feast started at sundown, and everyone was in their places by that time, poised and ready to start. Harry led the royal/noble procession into the banquet hall, trying desperately not to trip over his too-big shoes. Niall was standing in his place, ready to kick-start the entertainment for the evening: the first joke was balanced on the tip of his tongue. Harry had three small leather balls in his pocket, ready to impress the audience with his juggling,

The rest of the acts were watching anxiously from the edges of the room as King Henry’s considerable bulk collapsed into the golden throne at the head of the wide mahogany table. Zayn began to pad across the fresh rushes that littered the stone floor, nimble feet carrying him into his starting position behind the stifling red curtain at the back of the hall. He took several deep breaths and closed his eyes, waiting for his cue.

Stood next to the lute player, Josh, was Louis, humming softly to warm up his voice. His throat felt dry, and he felt sure that the tune would come out flat. Liam was next to him, holding his breath. Louis could feel how tense he was. Finally, the guest of honour—who wasn’t really a guest at all—Queen Anne Boleyn sat down daintily, smug smile firmly in place as she stared down at her subjects.

At this, the first joke fell from Niall’s mouth, and Harry scampered forward after its completion, removing the juggling balls from his pocket and holding them for a moment in his clammy hands. As soon as the first ball sailed into the air, the music began, and the servants began to weave through the performers to deliver dish after dish of food to the table. Matt and Josh were each playing a lute, and a woman whose name Liam remembered as Gemma was playing the flute. Their tune floated pleasantly through the air without interrupting the chatter of the diners. Within the first bar, Zayn had twirled out from behind the curtain, his agile body entrancing many of the women at the head table. He held his arms aloft and rose onto the points of his feet as the other dancers moved around him, spinning quickly and precisely, but none shone as brightly.

Harry’s eyes travelled in tight circles as he followed the progress of the balls, even as he was distracted slightly when he heard Louis’ unmistakeable voice chime in with the lyrics. Even though there were three singers, Louis’ was the only one that Harry could really hear, focused as he was on his juggling. He hadn’t heard Louis sing until this moment, and it was magical.

He glanced up for a second, comfortable in his rhythm, to grin cheekily at the ladies of the court, almost giggling when some of them swooned. One of them, a brunette sat near the King, winked at him flirtily.

After a few more minutes, in which all attention was successfully diverted to the other performers, Harry let the balls fall back into his hand, shoving them into his pocket and slinking cautiously into the corner. As the music became slower—more relaxed—more of the performers began to sidle into the empty doorways, backing up against the cold stone wall. The woman who had winked got up from her seat and was revealed to be wearing an outfit more appropriate for a dancer as she made her way over to where Harry was stood.

Before too long, he had a woman on either side of him: a blonde who might have been a dancer, although Harry hadn’t seen her that afternoon, and the brunette who had winked at him. He was becoming more and more sure that she was actually a courtesan—he’d never before had a woman behave so forwardly towards him. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, and maybe on another night he would have taken her up on her blatant offer, but tonight he only had eyes for Louis.

Finally, hours into the feast, the King dismissed Louis with a wave of his pudgy hand, and Louis promptly skipped across the hall and landed right next to Harry, elbowing the blonde away from Harry without so much as a word of apology.

“I don’t think I’ve seen either of you lovely ladies before,” Louis smiled, effortlessly charming.

“I’m Caroline,” said the brunette.

“Taylor,” the blonde said icily, glaring at Louis. “I’m a singer.”

“Then why weren’t you singing with us, love?” Louis asked.

“Anne Boleyn’s _personal_ singer,” she boasted in reply, tossing her long blonde curls.

“That’s funny, because you see, so am I, and I’ve never seen you around,” Louis smirked. “Now why would that be?”

Taylor blushed a bright shade of red as Caroline replied for her, “She’s a prostitute.”

“And so are you, right?” Louis pressed. “I heard you’re the King’s _personal_ courtesan. So maybe you shouldn’t be talking to young Harry here—Henry might get jealous.”

“He won’t mind,” Caroline said, pressing closer to Harry.

“Yeah, yeah.” Louis fluttered his hand vaguely. “Anyway, Hazza, I’ll leave you to it. Just so you know, though, I’ll be _seething_ with jealousy over by Li. See you in a minute? An hour? Three days? Seriously, I’m all for knowing what these girls are up for…”

“I’ll be there in a second,” Harry interrupted desperately, skin burning.

Louis winked at him and crossed the hall again, slaloming through servants and the remaining performers until he found the group that contained Liam, Niall and Zayn. The rest of the group featured Perrie, the singer, who was now plastered to Zayn’s side, and three girls Louis didn’t recognise.

“Introduce me, then,” he said to Liam.

“Oh, right. Everyone, this is Louis. Louis, you know Niall, Perrie and…um, you know Zayn, and these are Jade and Leigh-Anne, and Jesy. You probably saw Jesy dance.”

“I did, you were amazing,” Louis said to the girl with the fiery red hair.

“Jade and Leigh-Anne are Anne’s serving girls,” Liam continued. “They’re taking the night off.”

“We did our work already, getting Anne into that dress,” Leigh-Anne said. “It has at least ten fucking layers, I swear to God.”

At that moment, Louis felt a pressure on his shoulder and glanced round to see that Harry had hooked his head over it and was smiling at the four girls.

“I’m Harry,” he said.

“I knew you couldn’t resist me for long,” Louis whispered without turning his head, as Liam struck up a conversation with Jade and Zayn began to show off the finer points of his dance routine to the rest.

“Mm, of course not,” Harry murmured into the shell of Louis’ ear, fingers resting lightly on Louis’ hips.

“Please tell me you want to sleep with me,” Louis said abruptly, skin tingling where Harry was touching it. He got a hoarse laugh from Harry as a reply.

“I’d rather get to know you first.”

“That’s not really my style.”

“Your choice.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Harold.” Louis spun around, too close to Harry but making no move to retreat. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Well, my name isn’t Harold.”

“Boring.”

“Well, my mum is called Anne, too. Or I should say _was_. She had to change her name when Anne became Queen. Now she’s Charlotte.”

“I have a sister called Charlotte,” Louis replied. “But we call her Lottie. It’s her first day as a lady of the court tod—hey, Jade! Know a Lottie Tomlinson, by any chance?”

“Sure, we were just showing her the ropes this morning,” Jade answered. “Nice girl, eager to learn.”

“Sounds like her,” Louis smiled. “She’s not having too hard a time of it, then?”

“Not at all. She’s one of the best new recruits we’ve had in a while, actually.”

“Is she your only sister, then?” Harry asked, touching Louis’ hand to regain his attention.

“No, I’ve got four more.”

“Wow, I’ve only got one. She’s still over there, I think, the flautist?” Harry gestured to where a few musicians were still doggedly playing their instruments.

“Gemma, isn’t it?”

“That’s right. Have you spoken to her?”

“No, but I will say she’s a very talented musician. I’ve not heard anyone like her in a while.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, as though the compliment was aimed towards him. “Anyway, um, Niall told me you’re engaged?”

“Mm,” Louis responded vaguely. “I guess that you’re not?” Harry shook his head. “You don’t know what it’s like, then. Like, this girl—she’s lovely, really—she’s just been picked out for me since I was a kid, and so we grew up more like brother and sister than anything, and it’s all this whole process: make sure they’ve got a suitable name and a suitable family and a suitable face and a suitable dowry…it’s just, it’s like I’m being suffocated by this idea of who I should be in love with, who I should spend my life with.”

“Who is she?”

“Eleanor Calder.”

“I know that name…”

“Of course you do. I’m marrying up,” Louis sighed, wrapping his fingers around Harry’s. “This is why I don’t _do_ this, you know? It’s easier if I don’t know who you are, and you don’t know who I am, and then there’s no strings, no expectations. No disappointments.”

“Is that really how you want to live your life? Lying about who you are, giving a few hasty blowjobs here and there—”

“How did you know that?” Louis interrupted sharply.

“Shit. Shit, um, sorry. Okay, so you know how today you, um, you and Zayn? I kind of, saw? Like a bit.”

“So you mean you watched.”

“Um.”

“Like what you saw?”

Harry glanced up from where he’d been staring at the floor and saw the mischievous glint in Louis’ eyes.

“Well, obviously,” he said, regaining a little bit of his confidence.

“Bit naughty of you,” Louis said, dropping his voice so that it was only for Harry’s ears, “to be watching without telling, don’t you think? Without giving anything in return.”

Harry gulped.

“You see,” Louis continued, “I’m thinking you might have to find some way to repay me.”

With that, he tightened his grip on Harry’s hand and pulled him from the room.

***

“See, now I don’t feel so special,” Zayn said petulantly as the two left. He sighed dramatically. “And there I was, thinking I was the only one…”

“As your fiancée, I _so_ don’t want to hear this,” Perrie joked, nudging Zayn with her hip. “Oh, why can’t I satisfy you?” she moaned, clutching her heart.

“You’re perfect for each other,” Jade said dryly. “You’re both the biggest drama queens the world has ever known.”

“Er, guys, sorry to interrupt, but. What the fuck is going on?” Niall asked.

“Oh, I forgot you wouldn’t know,” Perrie laughed. “Zayn and I are in a bit of an…unorthodox relationship, I guess you could say. It wasn’t exactly either of our choices to marry each other, and although we did fall in love, it’s a lot more fun if we still get to have sexual experiences outside of each other. So, while Zayn gets to go off with guys like Louis, I get to have fun with Jade or whoever.”

Jade blew Perrie a kiss, waggling her eyebrows.

“So…” Niall looked in between them for a moment, as if to ascertain they weren’t lying to him. “Can I get in on this?”

***

Louis took Harry to the same place he’d taken Zayn, and Harry wondered if this was where he took all of his conquests. His skin felt heated where Louis was touching it but it wasn’t quite enough, he wanted to go back to one of their homes and lie in a bed together and just sleep off the exhaustion of the day; he didn’t want a casual fling, to be a dirty little secret.

“Louis…” he began.

Louis kissed him before he could finish, not in the way Harry expected. It wasn’t dirty, hot or fast, it was just comforting. Closeness.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Louis murmured against Harry’s lips. “It’s just I’ve wanted to do that since I first laid eyes on you.”

“I just…do you only want me for sex? Like Zayn? I need to know.”

“Harry, I—I can’t promise you much, okay. I’m engaged. I’m gonna be married soon. I’d like to be with you, not just for sex. I like you. But you know how it is.”

“I do. I do know how it is, but, I want to do this anyway.”

The next kiss was soft, lingering. Harry wrapped his arms around Louis’ waist as Louis lifted onto his toes to better reach. They pressed in close to one another, backing into the wall.

“This is dangerous,” Harry mumbled. “Someone might see.”

“So I’ve been told,” Louis snickered, breath fanning across Harry’s cheek. “Let’s go back to yours, then. While everyone’s still at the feast.”

***

Louis was on his knees before they even got to Harry’s bed. To his credit, it may have been due to how Harry kept groping his bum on the way there, and Harry sure as hell wasn’t _complaining_.

“You love it, don’t you,” Harry said as Louis began yanking off his legging. “Love giving it.”

Louis flicked dark eyes up to his face and smirked. “I don’t get the sense you’ve got a problem with it,” he said, taking Harry’s half-hard dick in one of his delicate hands. Harry moaned with it, quickly biting down on his lip. The next thing he knew, Louis was leaning closer and flicking out his tongue to tease the slit of Harry’s cock, keeping his hand moving up and down the length. Unsupported as he was, Harry’s legs wobbled dangerously, and he managed to croak, “Bed.”

Louis got to his feet and manhandled Harry across the room, pushing him down on the bed and instantly crawling up to get his mouth on him again. Harry’s hips stuttered when Louis’ lips closed around the head of his cock, and Louis pulled off.

“Stay still for me,” he ordered. “Still need to be punished.”

And it was torturous, to have no control over the pace, Louis taking him all the way for a few moments only to draw away completely, sucking a bite into Harry’s thigh instead. Harry’s muscles kept jumping with the effort it took not to move, to thrust up into Louis’ hot mouth or to simply thrash around with how the feeling of it was tearing out of him. It was only after a considerable amount of teasing that Louis deep throated again, swallowing around the length and looking up at Harry, eyes watering. Harry could see that he’d reached down himself, hand shoved down his trousers, and that was all it took.

Stars flashed behind his eyelids when he came and his head fell back onto the bed while Louis sucked him through it.

When Harry looked up again, Louis was up on his knees, hand curled into a fist around his own cock, and Harry watched the movement of the hand, mesmerised. Louis’ release came with a pretty rush of colour to his cheeks as he spilled over Harry’s stomach.

Harry pushed two of his fingers through the mess and brought them to his mouth, tongue flicking over the taste. Meanwhile, Louis was watching him with hooded eyes.

“I can’t believe you,” he said, voice hoarse, destroyed. “How are you even _real_?”

Harry just pulled him down for a kiss, sharing the taste between them. Louis groaned into it. “Harold, I am not ready for round two. Get off me.” Harry giggled and got up from the bed, shedding the rest of his clothes and reaching into the basin for cloth to wipe himself off with.

“Do you want to stay here tonight?” he asked softly, seeing Louis sprawled over the bed.

“I—yes. Yes, I would.”

Harry smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr is oopshidaisy :)


End file.
